brighter than the sky
by Never the End127
Summary: When she somehow stumbles into his life, seeming about as confused and as threatening as a half-drowned kitten, he doesn't expect to end up flat on his back on the training mats with her pinning him in the first twenty minutes of her session.
1. Twinkies

**A/N—Okay, so I know it's ridiculously early for shipping, but these two have such chemistry! Wow, I feel lame saying that…. Anyways, the actual show probably won't turn out like this but I can't help myself. Maybe it will stay a one-shot, maybe not.**

**Rating—K+**

**Disclaimer—nope, don't own Agents of Shield, don't profit from writing this.**

* * *

Agent Ward, so far in the five short years he's been acting as an agent in the field, has come across killer robots, alien hybrids, and genetically engineered mutants. He can crack any code the agency can dream up and shoot a man in the eye from fifty feet away.

So when _she_ somehow stumbles into his life, seeming about as confused and as threatening as a half-drowned kitten, he doesn't expect to end up flat on his back on the training mats with her pinning him in the first twenty minutes of her session.

Skye's long, soft curls of mixed shades of bronze and brown fall into his face, and he can barely feel her amused, lively eyes gleaming down at him triumphantly.

He's learned early in that she's not so much strong as she is _smart,_ quick, clever, jumping out of his reach at the last second and twisting his limbs around him, knocking him to the floor.

"Where the hell did you learn that?" He pants, his eyes narrowing characteristically as she smirks down at him like a proud child showing off an art project.

"Guess I'm just a natural." She says.

"You've had training." He grits out, forcing her off of him, and Skye tumbles back onto the mats. He is stronger than her, he realizes as she grunts in surprise before indignantly scrambling back up onto her knees.

"Not much, really." She teases. "Seeing as I kinda just schooled _you_ while you were showing _me_ how to pin someone—"

"No, not here." He argues. "Where did you learn that?"

She rolls her eyes and drags herself to her feet with a grunt. "Whatever, Capo." She brushes herself off and offers him a hand, which he reluctantly accepts.

"Take ten." He barks the order shortly before turning on his heel, rubbing the back of his head tiredly as he reaches for his water bottle. "I'll see you back on the bus after that. Coulson's debriefing us."

He feels more than sees her roll her eyes at his retreating back. "A, 'good job,' wouldn't kill you!" She calls after him.

Grant hopes it will stop there. Attachments, in his line of work, are never a good idea. He knows that going through a dangerous, life-threatening experience with someone will occasionally form an unavoidable bond. There's really nothing he can do about that.

But he's cautious about it. Cautious to keep everything in, and everyone else out.

Skye isn't like that. He's tried to explain it to her—the two of them see the world very differently. He was giving her a warning. Nothing good lasts forever, and she should try to keep things with him on a strictly professional level.

She doesn't understand. He wonders if it's possible that she'll ever understand that dangerous, life-threatening assignments and missions are not 'so cool,' and 'wicked' or 'sweet.'

Grant knows she's a good bit younger than he is, but he still can't fathom how someone could be so organized and mature and still so much of a _child_. She wasn't afraid of anything, because in her mind, nothing could hurt her. She was reckless, impatient, passionate, everything he strived not to be.

He's tried to understand it when she pulls Simmons away from her job during work hours to play Chinese Checkers, or when she lures Fisk away from his data and computers to come watch a rom-com with her in her room so they can throw popcorn at the screen. He tries to understand it when she packs Twinkies in her lunch box and doesn't obsess over her weight or her appearance like some of his old girlfriends have. "Life's too short, and I'm not a supermodel." She had explained to Agent Mai with her mouth full of hostess filling. She plays her music way too loud, and doesn't care who's listening when she sings along, equally loud and ear-grating.

Grant Ward doesn't know why it surprises him when she crawls off her spot on the couch and climbs into his lap. They had just gotten back from the fifth team mission, and the rest of their group was sitting gathered around them, sprawled out across sofas and armchairs, nursing their mild injuries with rest and celebrating them with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Grant had noticed that Skye wasn't drinking anything. A few moments before he had asked her why, and she had told him, 'because I don't need to.'

She didn't. No matter how much alcohol Skye had in her system, she would never be more fun, more amusing, more loose and carefree than she already was.

And he's trying to remember this as she pushes his glass out of his hand and shifts so she's leaning against him, her legs tangled with his and her head tucked under his chin like she wants to… what? Cuddle?

Grant nonchalantly tries to shift his weight so he dumps her off of him, but she's too stubborn to budge. He nudges her to the left a little, awkwardly patting her arm in what may be considered an affectionate gesture. She just laughs and leans against him harder. He eventually stops and stills, letting her settle against him so her head is over his heart.

Grant curses internally as he wraps an arm around her shoulders, knowing that he's just broken his biggest rule.

* * *

**A/N—Unbetad. Probably should have warned you in the first place. So, what did you think? Should I continue this? Can't wait for Tuesday's episode!**


	2. Battleship

**Disclaimer—I'll let you know when ABC hands over the rights to this awesome show. Until then, I don't own or make profit.**

**A/N—jeez, am I really three days late? Sorry folks, my stupid cable box didn't get Agents of Shield until yesterday.**

* * *

"Hoping for something and losing it hurts more than never hoping for anything." She murmured, and again Grant was caught off-guard by how much older she sounded, how much wiser when she talked like that.

"We won't turn our back." He said gently.

"Doesn't matter." Sky brushed off his promise with another knock of her fist against the punching bag. "I want this. Bad."

He nods solemnly and holds the bag still while she continues to jolt it with mere snaps of her wrists.

Grant's been flashing back to that moment a lot recently. It gave him the thought that maybe he was going about this all wrong, trying to teach her exactly what his mentor had taught him. Strength, endurance, agility. But the memory of Skye's light, though enthusiastic hits against the punching bag ringing in his ears he tries to match her skills with any training schedule he had been faced with when he was her age.

Skye's strongpoint, he's quickly learning, is unpredictability. That's how she managed to pin him the day before. He can never tell what she's going to do next—probably because she doesn't know. Skye just takes whatever comes her way and runs with it.

_Unpredictability, dexterity, a good bit of endurance for pain…_ Grant lists her strong points mentally, flinching a little at the memory how he had accidently popped three of her fingers out of their sockets. Skye, wincing, had barely made so much as a moan as she popped her fingers back into place, gave him a dirty look, and left to let Fitzsimmons have a look at them.

* * *

"Come on, Skye. Wake up." Grant said, not at all amused as Skye turned over in her bunk with her pillow pressed firmly over her face.

"Skye's not in right now, leave a message and I'll get back to you." Her voice was muffled and sleepy.

"Ha, ha, ha." Grant said dryly, tugging at the corner of her blanket. "Come one. I'm not going to fight with you over this."

"Good." Skye muttered. "Nice seeing you, then. You can let yourself out."

"Skye, just so you know there are only four poptarts left in the kitchen and if you don't come now, I'm going to tell Fitz to eat yours."

Simmons ducked her head in through the opened door and tsked reproachfully. "I'd hurry up if I were you, Skye." Her clipped, distinct British accent was enough to make Skye groan in complaint and roll over again to face the wall.

"I'm not joking." Simmons warned. "Fitz will eat anything smaller than his head. He's mentioned to me several times that his two ultimate goals in life are, one, to rewrite the inscription code for semotomic partical rebasing systems and get some big, fancy award for it—and two: to be able to unhinge his jaw like a serpent so he can swallow his food whole."

Skye let out a muffled laugh into her pillow and even Grant smiled weakly.

"She actually thinks you're kidding?" Fitz called from the next room over, sounding like he had his mouth stuffed full of Skye's poptart. "I'm three bites away from leaving you hungry, Skye. Better hurry up."

Grant shot a grateful smile over his shoulder at the incentive Fitz and Simmons had given for his new protégé to get out of bed.

And, eventually, Skye slumped up into a sitting position and stretched like a cat who had been interrupted of sunbathing. "You promised me today off." She said grouchily, rolling her wrists and her shoulders to relieve the tension.

Grant caught himself staring at the smooth lines that outlined her thin frame under the fabric of the t-shirt she slept in— there were soft shadows, lines, contaurs that faded in and out as she stretched lazily. He found himself shocked at how admiringly he took everything in.

Skye wasn't what Grant would ideally consider beautiful—she wasn't tall and busty and blond with a ten-inch waist and legs up to his eyes. She was little, and curvy, with bright brown eyes that seemed to snap everywhere they flickered to, crackling with heat and energy enough to warm your heart or scorch your skin. Grant was puzzled himself at the definition that came to mind at the memory of her name. _Alive._ Sky was so, completely, _alive_, so real, but at the same time, so confusing.

Grant didn't appreciate the confusing part. He liked things that were simple. Things like 'weapons,' and 'henchmen' and 'bombs' and 'good' and 'bad.'

He tries not to focus on sorting this out when she tells him to scram so she can get changed and he warns her not to take too long. Yes, it was supposed to be her day off. Yes, there's no mission today. But he really wants to practice evasive maneuvers with her, especially now that he's worked out a schedule…

She comes out of her room and he makes her do one hundred and eighty pushups for the time that she spent 'lolly-gaging' in the bathroom and showering before training, which he doesn't really see the sense in, but whatever.

"Please?" She implores, whacking the punching bag half-heartedly with her fist.

"No. Not until you've learned maneuver eight-one. I am not _torturing _you Skye, you don't need to look so mopey—"

"Can't we do something else? Can't we play battleships? That's strategy training, right?"

"Again. This time, bend your knees a little. Loosen up around your elbows and shoulders. Remember to keep your wrists locked." Grant instructs, reaching out to adjust her stance.

"Jeez, what more is it going to take for you to give up on this?" Skye demands. "I have offered up my soul, so far, and still you—"

"Actually, you've offered me a half-eaten, frozen poptart that Fisk has already gnawed all the icing off—" Grant deadpans, refusing to be distracted as he changed her position again.

"Same thing." She said, grinning a little at her own joke.

"You laugh pretty easy, you know that?" He commented, glancing up at her.

"You don't." She remarks. "I don't know about you, boss, but I don't live for kicking ass and taking names. I live for the fun things no one really thinks about—cheap lip gloss, high-school football games, Chuck Taylors, Twinkies, Juice pouches, Battleship. Stuff like that."

"Really?" Grant raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused.

"Really." Skye confirmed. "You might want to try it sometime.

An hour later, May and Coulson walk down the staircase into the loading bay to find Grant and Skye sitting next to the weight-lifting area, with red and white markers spilling all over the floor and Skye protesting that there is no way he could have sunken three of her ships without once missing a turn.

Grant really doesn't know what to tell them.


	3. Leprechauns

**A/N—takes place during… what is it now, episode five? Well, this is my take on the aftermath of that. Okay, so these two are in the interrogation room, afterwards. Coulson wants Ward to get Skye to tell him the Rising Tide's plans after having discovered she's a spy. Enjoy!**

* * *

Ward sets his jaw and glares down at her, his teeth gritted, fists clenched. "So this has been part of the plan all along, then?" He demands, watching her doe-like brown eyes shift upwards before flickering nervously back down to the floor.

He would have expected a variety of witty, defiant comebacks. He would have expected her to deny everything Coulson had accused her of, or at least to make some excuse.

"Yeah." She said, softly, her fingers twisting around the thin chain that connected the cuffs around her wrists.

"You're a criminal." Grant could feel himself shutting down, cutting himself off from her, letting those invisible walls close in around him. His expression was stony, his voice menacingly patient and calm. "You thought if you showed off your hacker skills a little bit—batted your eyelashes, we'd let you in just like that? You really thought we wouldn't _notice_?"

"I was trying to do something _good_, for a change." If she would have looked up at them, she might have seen Grant's expression flicker into something softer. But it was gone by the time she looked up again. "These people are not the good guys, Agent Ward." She said fiercely. "You _know_ that."

Grant looked at her for a long time. His gaze shifted up only a little to see her clenched fists resting on her lap. "We're helping people, _Skye_." He ground out. "I know you can't see it, but we're doing _good_."

"So—are you _helping_ people by… lying about everything, stealing new technology…" She stuttered, furiously fumbling for words, "You expect me to believe that the scary men in dark suits who steal new technology from the people just to benefit—"

"I'm not going to argue with you about this." He tells her calmly. "Now you can sit there and argue with me about who's right and who's wrong, or you can tell me the Rising Tide's plans."

He doesn't really know what he expects from her. To roll her eyes, probably, to refuse to tell him anything, to announce in that annoying, sing-song voice, "You'll have to use the truth serum—oh wait, that's right, there_ isn't_ one," or something of the like.

She pauses, looks at him, then glances towards the door. "Did you hear something?" She murmurs, frowning.

"What?" Grant's tone suggests that he's not buying into whatever she's selling. "What, are there Leprechauns aboard, now?"

For Grant, that was a really, really good attempt at a joke.

"You're not funny." She tells him patiently. "Seriously, I think you're great, Agent Ward, but in the future you should refrain from trying to make jokes. You're a lot funnier when you're not trying to be."

"Glad we're staying on topic." He says scathingly. "Now. Let's try this again. What are the Rising—"

"Uh, so sorry to interrupt." Fitz cuts Grant off as the door screeches open, and there he is, looking slightly ruffled with his hair standing on-end and twiddling his thumbs nervously.

"What is it, Fitz?" Grant demands at the same time that Skye says, "Ha. Told you I heard something."

"Not that I was evesdropping…" He begins cautiously, it's just… we're having a bit of a problem on deck."

"Meaning?" Grant asked.

"Meaning that Rising Tide has hacked our computer systems. All of them. Databases over-ridden, firewalls hacked—I don't know how they did it."

Grant's already in motion, circling around the table and grabbing Skye by the back of her jacket like a cat, dragging her upright. "So, you still want to keep playing games?" He demands of her, giving her a hard push out the door, nearly running over Fitz who's scrambling to get to the stairs. "We've let the Rising Tide have their fun playing super-computer for the past couple of years. You really think HQ is going to let it go on like this if—"

"This wasn't me." She responds calmly, shaking out of his grasp and holding up her wrists, which are starting to rub raw from the handcuffs. "Could you take these off? They're going to leave scars."

He ignores her. "What is the Rising Tide planning?" He grabs her by the shoulders. "Tell me."

"Relax, Capo. Everything's fine. I can stop them from hacking… if I want to. Now take these off, and—"

"And why in God's name would I let you go?" Ward challenges.

"Because you love me." She responds cordially.

Dead silence.

"I'm—I _what_?" Ward responds, watching her lips curl up into a smile.

"You love me." Skye said, as if it were obvious. Her smile wasn't sly and it wasn't teasing. It looked more friendly, more natural. Like she was giving him the time of day. "You just don't know it yet."

"Why would- you're— crazy." Grant gets out, stuttering for what may be the first time in his life.

"True, but that's not why. You'll figure it out sooner or later."

She starts up the stairs without him, leaving Grant to stare, dumbstruck at the opposite wall.

* * *

**A/N—Thanks for all the reviews! You guys are so nice! Oh, and, uh, I tend to switch from both past to present tense during the story without realizing it. If this annoys you as much as it annoys me, please tell me and I'll try to fix it, although I'd really rather not. I just do that with every story and it drives me insane. The next will be a one-shot from Skye's perspective!**


	4. horror flicks

**A/N: Okay, did anyone else find it a weird coincidence that Skye and Ward were playing Battleship in chapter two of this story, and Tuesday they made an episode with it? I swear to god I didn't know. Hope you enjoy my little Halloween present!**

* * *

Agent Ward has never been fond of Halloween. The other holidays too, he guesses, but Halloween's probably the worst. Easter, Christmas, Labor day—at least those days he won't be expected to socialize with people. Those days he can just come into work like it's a normal day and tolerate the constant greetings and friendly smiles and humbly pretend to appreciate the bonus he gets for working overtime.

Halloween, on the other hand, is one of those holidays where people show up at your doorstep with those rowdy, sugar-hyped kids. That's when you have to deal with the single mothers who are trying to set you up with one of their friends, and the teenagers who feel the need to vent to you about having to take their brothers and sisters out trick-or-treating. He hates when the people expect him to act like he's normal, like he has anything to celebrate.

And it's not like he's one of those fanatics who bolts their door shut and turns out all the lights and pretends not to be home. He's just always been awkward around kids. Since his younger brother, Ward has never been comfortable being around anyone under the age of twenty. Younger children, toddlers especially, always seemed like mindless drones that always had something sticky on their hands and did nothing but fight and wrestle and pull each other's hair.

When he tries to explain to Skye that he's not particularly fond of children, she's mortally offended, if not surprised.

"There's a shock." She huffs, giving the punching bag a little tap with her both of her fists.

"Focus, Skye." He orders shortly, jerking his chin in the direction of the bag. "Remember to keep your eyes protected if you don't want to lose them." His hands hovered over her shoulders and he moved closer than he normally would, his palm grazing the back of her neck.

The last time he had found them in a position like this was last week—he had been showing her how to load a standard SHIELD firearm and unload it when she had instigated an argument, which led to a 'combat training exercise,' which lead to him pinning her flat on her back on the mats with his lips just barely brushing against her neck, searching for excuses not to get up off of her.

Then Fitz had walked in on them, munching on potato chips and advising that if they were going to have sex in the loading dock, at least to wait until Agents Coulson and May were asleep. Coulson had walked in and heard the entire conversation just as Ward was scrambling off of Skye, who had been cursing Fitz and his obsessive junk-food-eating habits quietly under her breath. Finally, Coulson had told them all to get back to work with a weird look on his face.

Ward had considered shooting himself. Or just shooting Fitz. Yes, looking back on it, shooting Fitz really would have solved most of his problems.

Now, she brushes her long, coppery hair away from her face and he can see the blotchy red appearing on her cheeks.

"You are a robot." She says suddenly, instinctively hurling abuse like she always does whenever they're getting too close and she needs him to back off. "But I get it, Agent Ward. I feel the same way. Kids—right up there on my list of top ten things I hate—right under puppies and sunshine and ice cream."

Ward rolled his eyes as he pulled away from her slowly, taking a few steps back to watch her as she threw a few more hits at the punching bag.

He could tell that she wasn't paying much attention, and eventually, when it got to the point that she wasn't even punching the bag at all, he heaved a sigh and told her they were wrapping it up for the day.

"Good session. Same time tomorrow." He told her shortly.

She looked up from the bag, looking a little surprised. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" She asked.

"Nowhere." He answered, barely glancing at her as he threw his gym bag over his shoulder.

"Then why don't you hang around for a little while? We can kick Fitz off the TV, see if there are any cheap horror flicks on and make fun of the actors."

"Skye, why don't you just go help FitzSimmons blow up the lab again?" Ward suggested dryly.

"I can't." She replied evenly. "Simmons is baking cookies with her lab equipment and I apparently cannot be trusted not to lick the dough off my fingers. And Fitz, like I said, is in the living room watching the nature network and I can't watch baby sea turtles get eaten."

"I'm going to pass on that one, Skye. Maybe another time." Ward shook his head, barely suppressing a weak smile.

"Well aren't you at least going to wait for Simmons to finish baking cookies?" Skye asked.

Ward almost laughed. "Chocolate-chip cookies made with the same measuring equipment Simmons uses to contain gamma radiation—pass."

"Aw, give her a chance." Skye grinned, putting her tape-wrapped fists on her hips. "They might be good."

Ward rolled his eyes again, and he could feel her eyes on his back as he headed for the stairs. The bus was going to be landing in about an hour, and he needed a nap in the meantime.

"Grant." She said quietly. "Come on. Please?"

He breathed another heavy sigh, his hand frozen on the railing. He was now faced with the options of going up to his bunk and analyzing file after file of theories about the Centipede organization, or watching Halloween specials with the rest of the team he had trained himself to keep at a distance.

Grant knew better than to turn around, because he knew how skilled she was at batting those pretty brown eyes, and knowing her, she was working those too.

"_One_ movie." He said through gritted teeth. "And none of the creepy British TV mysteries Simmons keeps recording."

"Come on," Skye laughs, hopping up the stairs after him. "Simmons' TV has all the good murder mysteries! Homicide's a pretty British thing, apparently. It's almost like a hobby over there."

"Hardy, har, har." Ward forgets to roll his eyes when he holds the door for her this time. "Just don't get used to it, Rookie."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Ward."

* * *

**A/N—Thanks for reading! You know how much I love to hear your thoughts and advice, and prompts are very welcome—but honestly, for those of you who don't understand my portrayal of Skye's character, you're in the wrong place. I like to write her as being fun, wacky, blunt and saying those things everyone else cringes to hear. For my lovelies who have stuck with this, thank you, and I'll be posting soon!**


	5. opposites

**A/N—First off, I'd just like to say—yes, I think that line may have come from the musical, Curtains. My roommate is in that musical and she gave me that line. But that's just why it's been taking me so long to upload! I made the mistake of offering to be a stagehand and it has completely swallowed up my entire life. I apologize if this isn't my best chapter ever—I wrote it at like 2 am on my ipad notes and haven't revised it since. But I figured you guys deserved a chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

It's no secret that Ward is fond of rules. He's always been like that—he's narcotic, likes to keep things in order. His files are all alphabetized and color-coded, he makes his bed every morning and eats sleeps breathes training.

Which is one of the main reasons that this shouldn't bother him. Her betrayal. They were polar opposites—she with her messy, unorganized life style where she washed her hair with dish soap when she couldn't find the shampoo and lost her notebook so often, he had noticed her scribbling down computer codes and other memos to herself on the backs of old receipts, written in eyeliner.

Everything about her should have bothered him. Not just because she was difficult and insubordinate and had the maturity level of a ten year old when it came to respecting the standard protocol of the agency. No, he just should have disliked her because she was everything he strived not to be.

Ward did his best to hold the corners of his mouth down in a scowl as he walked around the corner and stood near the opposite couch, waiting for Skye to look up and address him.

"I'm telling you, that nun had it out for me." Skye explained to Simmons, stenciling a little yellow flower on the technician's pinky fingernail with a toothpick. "Every time I got a problem wrong in class, she jab her finger at me and say, "Skye, you're bad. You're _B-A-D_, bad. Class, let's all pray for Skye." And then she made everyone put their heads down and pray for me. A lot of good that did—the problem wasn't so much that I was bad at school— it was more that I lacked the necessary motivation."

Simmons was laughing, tossing back her head to the ceiling as Skye went on with her stories of being raised in Saint Agnes's home for girls. "Some of them were really nice, though." She said defensively after a moment. "Sister Genevieve used to give me candy. And I liked a couple of the other girls there. I still talk to Annemarie."

"Well, I'm glad to hear your childhood wasn't completely miserable." Simmons laughed as Skye dabbed at the corner of her nail with a cotton ball. "Seems you had a few… interesting stories to tell from it, if nothing else."

"Yeah." Skye agreed, dipping the brush back into the nail polish. "So have you and Fitz. I mean—"

Ward cleared his throat quietly, and both of them looked up. "If you ladies are done?" He said, using his best black ops specialist expression—the stone-cold expression that practically made Fitz wet his pants during poker. "Skye, I need you in the training room in five."

"Coming." Skye saluted and dragged herself to her feet. "See you, Jemma. I'm going to go get changed."

Simmons looked up at Ward's expression, and the look on her face showed that she knew that there was still a lot of tension going on that she really didn't want to get mixed up in. "Oh… yes, well, thank you for the manicure, Skye. It looks very posh—I… think Fitz is calling me. I'll see you later." She fled from the room as fast as she could without running.

It only took a second of what Ward hoped wasn't a furious-looking glare before Skye followed suit, heading for her bunk to change into her gym-clothes.

When he met her on the mats in twenty minutes, he doesn't even bother to order she does pushups because he doesn't want to argue with her. Actually, he'd rather not talk to her, period. He uses as few words as possible, acts like he's not watching her as he holds the punching bag still and she gives it these sharp little jabs that honestly wouldn't have downed a fourth grader.

She's coming along nicely, he'll admit. She's unpredictable, and that's not a bad thing—or at least he keeps telling himself that. He can't believe he's still making excuses for her.

"Okay. I've seen enough. On the mats." He orders gruffly.

"Well, you don't waste time." She says slyly, and he rolls his eyes pretty hard at the raunchy jokes she makes whenever things are awkward between them.

"Just get into your position." He says, his voice flat and stiff.

"Whatever you say, captain." She stands on the mats, her hands raised, and before Ward can take the time to collect himself he's sent a sharp jab to her shoulder that sends her reeling backwards.

"Stay focused." The words come out sounding a little more aggressive than he intended.

He generously waits for her to regain her balance before swooping in again, expecting her to dodge the hit. She doesn't.

Skye sways dangerously, stumbles, then just barely manages to catch herself.

"Got to keep up, Rookie." Ward snarls. And then her back hits the mats again.

"Jeez, Agent Ward." Skye chokes out. "What is it today that's got you so uptight? Forgot to iron your socks this morning? Only managed one-hundred and ninety-nine pull ups in training?"

"Just get up." He said emotionlessly.

Skye struggled to her feet with no help from him and raised two pathetically weak fists in front of her face. "Well, isn't someone feeling particularly violent today?"

"Well this is what happens, Skye, when you sell your team out for money." Ward ground out.

"Miles sold you out for money. I sold you out because you were threatening him, and he was my friend. And you know what, maybe he was right. Maybe being the good guy shouldn't have to go hand and hand with being the ones who always get kicked down before they even have a chance to stand up, just because of what we are. Because we always play nice, and we always get trampled." She was rambling now, off on another one of her 'freedom of information' and 'rights of the people' speech that she felt entitled to lecture him about every so often. He really didn't want to hear it just now.

"Don't patronize with the poor little orphan stories. I don't want to hear about it." Grant sneered.

"And I don't want your pity. It wasn't like that." She snapped.

"Then what was it like?" He growled.

"It wasn't all terrible. It wasn't all a nightmare. I had friends, and food, and a warm place to sleep most of the time. When I was fifteen, I met Miles, and for a while we could have each other." She paused for breath and stared down at his clenched fists, hardly seeming to breathe. "We were scared kids. We were looking for two things, at the time—someone to love us, and someone to blame. In our own, twisted way, I guess we found both. Stayed mad at the world, kept moving."

"Yeah, well, because you had to help your boyfriend, you nearly brought the entire organization crashing down on itself. Do you have any idea what that could have meant?"

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry." Skye pressed her lips together in a thin line and shoved her hands into her pockets. "I just… I kind of want to believe that there's good in everyone, you know? Like I can still trust everybody. Clearly you have issues with that."

"I have issues with you." Ward dismissed with a jab of his chin.

Skye dropped her fists and gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. "Right." She replied staidly.

"So what's it like then, Skye?" Ward's short fuse was burning quicker than was typical for him now. There was something about this whole ordeal that set him on edge. "What was living like that really like?"

There was a pause where neither of them said anything. When Skye spoke again, she seemed tranquil, at ease, calm, everything that Ward had discovered that she was typically not.

"There were some homes…" Skye began slowly, "Some homes that were always ghetto, always families with mothers who were drug dealers and step-dads with slight… wandering hand problems. There were always those homes where the older kids would kick you around and you didn't get a lot to eat." She pressed her lips together in a thin line and looked up at Ward with eyes that would have put a puppy's to shame.

"I don't care what your childhood was like, Skye." Ward said gruffly, harshly, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "All I care about is whether or not I can trust you with a simple task. Because if you cannot follow my orders, and you cannot be trusted with SHIELD info, then I don't want you on this ship."

Skye blinked, but showed no other signs that he had interrupted her at all. She continued. "And then there were… a couple of homes that were bearable. Mainly grumpy old ladies who referred to my chalk drawings on the sidewalk as 'vandalism' and complained that I was more trouble than I was worth. There were the Brody's."

"Skye." Her name was flat and void on his tongue, meaning nothing. It was barely a statement. He wanted to get away.

"Ward." She replied with the same dull, vacant tone. "Yes, there were some better homes too. Ones with mothers who let me jump on the couch and eat too many cookies and stay up past my bed time. But looking back on it, I don't think they ever liked _me…_"

"It doesn't matter." Ward deadpans. "That's not the issue, Skye. The issue is that you lied to us. You sold us out to protect your boyfriend and—"

"Don't drag Miles into this." Skye snapped angrily.

"Or what?" Ward nearly sneered.

For a second, he feels a mixed rush of triumph and guilt at her the frustrated, struggling expression that flits across her face. Then it's gone. Because she's standing dangerously close. Far too close. Close enough that he could count every tense muscle, that he can see the little rims of amber that circle around the iris of her eye—he had never noticed before.

"Stop." He growls, low in his throat.

"I'm not doing anything." She responds, and it's not feigned innocence. It's all him. Ward is the one leaning closer, towering over her and shadowing her little frame in hopes of intimidating her, taking out his anger in the only way he knows how to. She doesn't back down.

He could feel the heat coming off her skin, almost hear her heartbeat, watch the subtle thrum of vibrations on her throat, right at her pulse point. Ward feels the sudden, compulsive urge to have his mouth on the skin there, to kiss and stroke and mark up all the enticingly still planes of smooth skin. And then there's her mouth—chapped, curved, the corner muscles tensing nervously. She asks him what he's doing. Or at least he thinks she does.

He doesn't realize he's stopped himself, pulled away, until he sees the expression on her face. Confused, startled, shaking her head slightly with her lips parted just a bit.

"Get back to your bunk." The words come out in the same blank, hollow tone. And then she's gone, before his hazy mind can comprehend that for once, she's followed one of his orders right off the bat.

He waits till he can't hear the metal clang of her footsteps on the staircase. There's silence for a moment. Enough of it for him to question if he's the same person he used to be at all.

* * *

**A/N- well, how was that for a nice, rambly, long chapter? BTW, I have a new, super depressing fic that you can find on my profile, called 'what if' (I know, I am so original when it comes to titles) that's going to be a series of one-shots with assorted genres. Just so you know. Thanks so much for reading and please leave me your critasism and advice, you know I love to hear back from you guys!**


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